Holding On & Letting Go

I'll never forget the first time I learned how to ride a bicycle. Staring at that contraption frightened me. It was bigger than life, bright red, and the wheels seemed like they stood as tall as me. It was for sure over-sized for my body, but I was determined with the help of my Dad to learn how to ride that bike. Being highly maturated in the frontal lobe area of my brain very early in life (another way of saying that I was a scared-i-cat, which I was often called by others and for good reason), I was afraid to ride that bike. Deep down I knew I would fall and skin my knees, break a leg or have some other "devastating" life catastrophe impinge upon my body. But there was also a part of me, a part inside of most everyone I suppose, that wanted to prove that I could overcome my anxiety and do what every other boy and girl could do and enjoy. The disconcerting thing was that most of them were much younger than me and they made it look like it was "just like riding a bike". With my tip toes barely touching the hot black top that warm summer dusk, my Dad gave me a push while I lifted my feet to the pedals. He held onto the seat from behind so I wouldn't fall, and then told me to push hard on those shin-biting protrusions. Wobbling to and fro, like a drunken sailor on wheels, I criss-crossed the street, stopping suddenly by putting my feet back on safe and solid ground. During one of those tries, when he eventually let go (every Dad has to as some point) I remember getting the wheels stuck in a rut in the road an then what I knew was going to happen really did - I crashed and skinned my knee. The red cherry stung and I cried. My Mom watched from the front yard and wanted to come to my rescue, I'm sure, but left me to what was best. Dad knew I was panicked, so he calmed me down and told me to give it another try. We did that several times until finally I figured out that the ole balancing thing was something I could actually do after all. Quickly my fear turned to exuberance, and my pride swelled to a healthy level, something along the lines of confidence. I did it! I rode a bike, just like everyone else could, and it was fun. I went to bed that night proud as punch, and couldn't wait to do it again the next day. Before long I was riding with one hand on the handle-bars, then none, then popping wheelies, then skidding into a fishtail,... you know, really cool stuff.

I've now experienced what my Dad did on that day long ago, on several occasions actually; first with Austin on what we called "big blue" (a small Schwinn), then with Annie, and eventually with Barret. (Barret was almost killed on "big blue" several years ago when he took a turn on a blind corner and a pickup truck nailed him head on. Neither one of them knew what hit them. God spared Barret that day as he lay underneath the chassis unconscious. We now walk by that spot on the way to our neighborhood pool almost every summer day. Each time I step on that corner of the street I thank God for mercifully giving us more time with Barret.)

After teaching Barret how to ride a bike I figured those days were over, at least with my own children - maybe grandchildren someday, but most dads want to save that for themselves. I understand. However God had a different plan for me on Friday. July 23rd was the day I experienced groundhog day again and taught Piper how to ride a bike. The routine was so predictable, almost like watching a tape recording of my own greenhorn riding days and also those of teaching my other children. She wobbled, she fell, she screamed, she laughed, she... eventually figured it out and was, well... "proud as punch" (we're teaching Piper idioms like this one, although I'm quite confident they wouldn't say it quite like that in China).

Willow and Poppy still need the third wheel and have scooted around on their Red Flyer tricycles all summer. The image of their pigtailed bobs swinging here and there (Poppy's are more like short, fluffy sticks since her hair is so short) while I watch them from behind en route to swimming is indelibly etched in my mind. A sight to behold. Today, however, Victoria and I (mostly Victoria) couldn't stand it any longer and decided to get them their own bicycles with training wheels. We surprised them with their new modes of transportation, and they were like... pigs in poop (I think we'll save that idiom for Piper for another day). Before you knew it, the neighbor girls brought out their bikes and the whole culdesac was full of racing riders on their spoked rims.

Victoria and I are still learning, at our age, how to ride a bike - the bike of raising children that is. We wobble to and fro, we get caught in ruts and fall down, we get scabby knees, we get prideful and overly confident sometimes (until we crash and get humbled again), we're tired at the end of a long day of riding, we get scared to get back on the frame wondering if we'll remember how, and so on, and so on. God sometimes holds onto our seats, and sometimes He let's go, but He's never far away. He kisses our owees and makes them all better, and He tells us to get back on the bike because He's wired us to balance that thing and get from point "A" to point "B". After riding for so long we sometimes forget that it's fun, even though going up those steep hills is intimidating and exhausting. But what goes up must come down, and coasting down a long, windy road with the warm wind blowing in our faces and the beautiful scenery passing us on our left and our right refreshes our spirits and cause us to look forward to riding again tomorrow. It's just like riding a bike.

Holding On & Letting Go,